In the Tudor Court Collection. Amanda McCabe

to her family.

      Kathryn was disturbed by the small incident at her friend’s house. The ruin of an expensive gown was not so important, for it could be replaced, but if it was done out of spite it was quite another thing. She felt uncomfortable as they returned to the house, for if Maria was capable of doing something like that, what more might she do?

      She tried not to let it make a difference to her manner towards the Spanish girl. Maria was in a difficult position and she felt sympathy for her, but as the days passed, she could not but be aware of something in Maria that she did not quite like.

      The girl had a way of looking at Lorenzo that Kathryn found disturbing. She seemed to hang on his every word, and to follow him about the house and gardens. It was almost impossible for Kathryn to be alone with her husband, other than when they were in their bed.

      The time they spent in bed together was very special. Lorenzo’s loving made Kathryn so happy that insignificant things could not really upset her. She wished that he might love her, but there was still a strange reserve in him at times, and she had woken twice to find the bed cold and empty. It seemed that he left her once she was asleep, and that caused a small hurt inside her, for she wanted to wake and find him still beside her. Yet it was but a small thing, for he did everything he could to make her happy, giving her costly presents and encouraging her to spend money when she went shopping with her friends.

      ‘I want you to be happy, Kathryn,’ he had told her several times. ‘You must tell me if there is anything you want.’

      ‘I have all I need,’ she said, for how could she ask for the one thing he was incapable of giving her? She loved him, but he could not return that love—something inside him had created a barrier between them. He was good to her and she knew that he wanted her with a fierce, needy passion, but she did not have his heart.

      Even so, she was content with her life. They entertained their friends, visited them at home and were seldom without company.

      Lorenzo was often busy, for the galleys were being cleaned and made ready for the next spring when it was thought that a new and much larger campaign would begin. Lorenzo had mentioned a man called Don John of Austria who would lead the enlarged fleet in the fight against the Turks, a man respected by all the factions of the League.

      ‘There was too much argument and indecision last time,’ Lorenzo told her once when they lay thigh to thigh in their bed, his hand idly tracing the silken arch of her back. ‘If we are to strike a blow that will break the power of Selim, we must bind together and put our differences aside. I have no love of the Spanish, Kathryn, but I will fight with them if it defeats our common enemy. The Turks have become too predatory, too greedy, and we must stop them before it is too late.’

      He had made love to her with such sweetness that night that she felt her inner self reach out to him and it seemed that they were one, their hearts, minds and bodies joined so sweetly that they could never more be separate beings. And yet still he had not told her he loved her.

      Kathryn saw them walking together in the gardens that morning, her husband and the Spanish girl. It had happened before, but this time Lorenzo was laughing at something Maria had said to him, and she looked up at him as they walked, her smile inviting.

      Maria was wearing the new gown of green silk that Kathryn had commissioned for her. She looked very beautiful and for a moment Kathryn was jealous. She felt the pain of it strike her. Lorenzo was not in love with her, his wife, and a man might desire many women. Was he becoming interested in the Spanish girl? Would she lose him to her rival? For she sensed that Maria was trying to arouse his interest in her.

      Elizabeta had warned her against trusting Maria, and later that day there had been the incident of the spilled drink. Kathryn had never thought it an accident, because she had seen the look of triumph in Maria’s eyes before she lowered them, pretending to be distressed. And what was it Isabella had said—something about Maria having had a lover who had promised to marry her?

      It was not true as far as Kathryn knew, which meant the Spanish girl had lied. And now she was doing her best to capture Lorenzo’s attention…

      But this was mere foolishness, an irritation of the nerves. She would not let jealousy poison her thoughts, against her husband or the other girl!

      Kathryn lifted her head and went outside to meet them. Immediately, Maria let go of Lorenzo’s arm and moved away from him, pretending to be interested in one of the shrubs in the garden.

      ‘Kathryn, my love,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Maria was telling me how happy she is here with us—and how kind you have been to her. I think we should give a dinner for our friends to celebrate the coming of Christ’s birthday. It will be expected of us and it will be our farewell to Maria—I have written to Don Pablo and he asks that Maria may be taken to him in Granada.’

      ‘You are sending me home?’ Maria whirled round, looking at him. Her dark eyes blazed with anger. ‘But you promised—Kathryn promised that I should stay with you.’

      ‘For a while, until you had recovered your spirits,’ he told her. ‘I think you will find that your father is only too pleased to have you home, Maria. There is no need to be afraid that he will send you to a nunnery.’

      ‘Kathryn…’ Maria looked at her, eyes wild with such a mixture of emotions that it was hard to tell which was uppermost—fear or anger. ‘Do not let him do this to me, I beg you.’

      ‘My husband does what is right for you, Maria,’ Kathryn said, hardening her heart against the girl. Elizabeta was right. Maria was sly and deceitful and it would be best for all of them if she returned to her father. ‘I am sorry if you are distressed, but I am sure that it must be best for you. Perhaps your father will arrange a marriage for you—’

      ‘No! I will not be sent back to him,’ Maria cried and her eyes blazed with anger. ‘You will be sorry for this—both of you!’

      She ran from the courtyard, leaving Kathryn and Lorenzo alone.

      ‘Do not judge me unkind,’ Lorenzo said, misjudging Kathryn’s silence. ‘She is no true friend to you, Kathryn. Another man might have found her tempting, but she wasted her wiles on me. She might cajole many a man for she is comely enough, but I have never trusted her. Nor do I desire her.’

      ‘She has been through so much,’ Kathryn said, ashamed now that she had been jealous even for a moment. ‘Who knows what such an ordeal may do to anyone? How can we know what she has suffered?’

      ‘Be careful of her, Kathryn,’ Lorenzo said. ‘I warn you because I must leave you for two days. When I come back we shall arrange our special dinner—but until then do not trust Maria. If my business were not important I would not leave you, but I think she cannot harm you if you give her no chance. You have Veronique and your friends to keep you company while I am gone.’

      ‘I shall miss you,’ Kathryn said, ‘but do not worry for my sake, Lorenzo. Maria may be capable of small acts of spite, but I do not think she would seek to harm me. Why should she? I have been kind to her.’

      ‘For some people that means nothing,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Indeed, she may despise you for your weakness. It is a pity that I did not send her to her father immediately. However, the arrangements are made for two weeks hence. We shall have our party and then she shall go.’

      ‘It must be as you say,’ Kathryn agreed. ‘But I shall still be kind to her while she is with us, for she has suffered much.’

      He nodded, drawing her to him, gazing down into her face. ‘I would expect nothing else from you, Kathryn, but be careful. I would not have harm come to you while I am away.’

      She smiled, lifting her face for his kiss. ‘Do not worry, Lorenzo. I promise you I shall be careful. Besides, what harm could she do in such a short time?’

      ‘What is the matter, Veronique?’ Kathryn asked as her companion came to her in the little salon where she had chosen to sit and read her book later that morning. ‘You look upset.’

      ‘A